by Reece Butler
“Who is he, and why is he so upset?” asked Nikki. “Other than having to figure out what Billie Rose was saying to him?”
“He’s got some business that needs doing to close out the account.” Max looked far too pleased with himself. “He’s not happy that you’re holding up his paperwork.”
“His paperwork?” asked Marci.
Max nodded. Nikki saw the same sparkle in his eyes as his sister Brenda showed when she gleefully told her about getting back at Simon. He had something up his sleeve, and it wasn’t a knife.
“You’re the first client who hasn’t tried to beat down his office door to get to the money.”
“Money?”
“From the insurance claims.”
“But, what about the police? They said I couldn’t profit from Ted’s death.”
“The case is closed,” said Max. “You’re cleared. The only thing left is for you to get your check. And cash it,” he added.
“Oh.” Marci looked at the table. “Then why did you make me tell you everything?”
“You needed to say it.”
Marci nodded thoughtfully. She blew out her breath, then pushed back her chair. “I suppose I’d better call him.” She stood up, then wavered. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she began to crumple.
“Grab her,” yelled Nikki, but Lance was already moving. He caught her in his arms. She struggled to escape but he growled something Nikki didn’t hear, and she stopped.
“She hasn’t eaten breakfast yet,” said Simon, fretting. “Just those crackers and soda. I guess the strain of this has been too much for her. And she hasn’t been sleeping enough.” His face colored at the implication of why she’d missed sleep.
Lance looked very content holding her little sister. He was rumored to have ways of knowing things. Nikki held her tongue, waiting for the others to figure it out. Max was first. He slapped Simon on the shoulder and perched on the edge of the table.
“I see you didn’t waste any time,” he said, grinning widely. “I hope you boys know what trouble you’re in for.”
“Trouble?” asked Simon warily.
“When are you marrying the mother of your child?”
“What the…? Marci’s only been with me a few weeks!”
Max smirked. “I’ve got four children. That means going through four pregnancies. I was as bad as you the first time, wondering what was the matter with the coffee. Then Brenda clued me in. One of the first signs of pregnancy with many women is that coffee smells bad.” He pointed at the empty carafe. “That was an expensive Arabian blend you poured down the sink.”
“Marci’s pregnant? Already?” Simon, white-faced, turned to Nikki.
“If all goes well, you’ll be daddies in less than nine months,” she replied.
Simon’s exuberant yell filled the small room. He eagerly turned to Lance, who smiled sweetly into Marci’s eyes.
“You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” he asked his twin.
“I sensed the spark,” said Lance, not looking up, “but it was only a potential.”
“And now?”
“I suggest we name him after Grandfather Daniel George.”
“Him? You’re sure?”
“That’s what the old man said. Of course, he could be wrong.” Lance bent forward and kissed Marci’s forehead reverently. “Boy or girl, I don’t care, as long as the babe’s healthy.”
“Midnight cravings,” said Max with satisfaction, “and not just for food. Lower back massages. Mood swings. Two a.m. feedings. Diapers!” He chuckled. “I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer.”
“I won’t suffer,” said Simon quietly. He helped Marci to stand, keeping an arm around her protectively. “I’ll enjoy every minute.” He gave Lance a smug look. “I bet we made a baby that very first night.”
Marci shared an eye roll with Nikki, though she was smiling brighter than Nikki could remember. Motherhood would be very good for her little sister. She was the type to love creating a home and family. Nikki would have to be satisfied with being an aunt.
“Don’t know if the Doc can deliver her own sister’s baby,” said Max to Simon, “so you might want to read up on it, cowboy. Cows, horses, and humans aren’t quite the same.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Animals don’t cuss at you, throw things, and swear that you’ll never get within a dozen feet of them ever again. But once the baby’s born—”
Nikki would have to check the rules. Marci wouldn’t need her sister to hold her hand as Simon and Lance would be holding on like glue. In the few deliveries she’d done here, she’d found the tougher the man, the harder it was for him to see his wife in pain.
Marci, though embarrassed at fainting, quickly recovered. Waving Nikki and Max away, she followed Simon and Lance to Max’s office. Nikki amused herself by reading Wanted posters while waiting. Max did paperwork.
Marci and her men returned in less than five minutes. All three looked stunned.
“Marci?” asked Nikki. “Are you okay?”
Marci slumped into a chair pulled out by Simon. He and Lance flanked her. “I had no idea the house and all of Ted’s ugly things were worth that much.”
“Nikki, Marci’s insisting on using her insurance money to buy into the ranch,” said Simon, sounding thoroughly frustrated. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She should keep the money for herself, invest it or—”
“I told you,” said Marci, “I am investing it. In us. You, me, Lance, and…” her hand dropped to her belly. “And our baby. We’ll pay off the ranch debts your parents left, and make those improvements you want. There’s no way those Texans are going to steal our ranch!”
“You tell ’em, sister,” said Nikki, loving to see her standing up for what she wanted. These men were good for her. She stood up for herself, and they encouraged it, though she was sure they’d put their foot down when they wanted to.
“But I won’t take the blood money,” declared Marci. “I refuse to benefit from Ted’s death. I don’t want anything to do with his company insurance policy.” She turned to Nikki, and then Max. “Between you, I bet you know a lot of places where money could make a heck of a difference. I’ve been baking to raise money for little Amanda, but this could help pay off a big chunk of debt. What about an ambulance, computers, and well-baby clinics.” She held up her hands, exasperated. “I don’t want it!”
“I’ve got all sorts of ideas,” said Nikki. “But I can’t be involved in what’s decided.”
“Is there anyone in town who can manage a charity foundation?” asked Marci.
“Me!”
Nikki turned. Mrs. Gibson, arms crossed in that take-no-prisoners manner she’d used to raise and handle all those big men, glared into the room.
“I just love that Highway to Heaven show, where people get helped by that angel, Michael Landon.” She pressed her hand to her heart and sighed, smiling like a teenager over her favorite heartthrob for a moment before continuing. “I want to help people. I’ve got the contacts, the knowledge, the bookkeeping skills, and the ability to keep my mouth shut.” She turned to her son. “And it’s about high time the sheriff hired an office manager who hasn’t changed his diapers!”
“Mom, I don’t think—”
“Exactly! You’re a man,” she roared back at the sheriff. “Well, this job is one for a matronly woman with a deft touch.” She looked around the coffee room, daring anyone to challenge her. “You have a better suggestion?”
“No, ma’am,” said Simon, grinning.
Nikki, through Brenda, had heard a lot about Mrs. Gibson. She had far more ability, including excellent organizational skills, than could be used in a paying position in a small town. As for herself, she could use some of the money to hire a part-time doctor. Maybe someone older, with a lot of experience but ready to take time to go fishing and camping now and then.
“Where would you like to work?” asked Marci. “It should be a place where this can be kept a secret. No one can know where the money came from, who
gets it, why, or how much is left.”
“Sounds like you’ve done some of this before,” said Mrs. Gibson.
“I volunteered on a number of charity boards,” said Marci. “The other women liked to be seen at fancy galas, but I preferred to roll up my sleeves.”
“Good. Sheriff Gibson?”
“Yes, Mrs. Gibson?”
“You can take your job and shove it!” She laughed delightedly. “I’ve been wanting to say that for years!”
“Mom, if you didn’t like the job, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I like the job just fine, honey. But I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. I love your fathers, but you know how old school they are. They think a woman is only fulfilled if she’s taking care of people. Well, I can do a lot more here in town to take care of others than fussing over three men at home.”
“You’re hired,” said Marci. “But it will take a few weeks to get things set up. If you quit this job, what will you do until then?”
Mrs. Gibson took in the lot of them with one eager glance. “I am going to be Climax’s best ever wedding planner. I hear I have about eight days to pull together a wedding ceremony.”
“I’ve never planned a wedding, but I’ll help,” said Marci.
“You’d better, since it’s your wedding I’m planning!”
Marci laughed. “It’ll be a good excuse to be together while we work out how we want the foundation to operate. Can we talk about the foundation, since we’re all here?”
Nikki joined Marci and Sandra, as she insisted she be called.
“You’re in for it now,” Nikki heard Max say to Simon. “Didn’t you help tie a certain groom to a light post a while back, then hand a black permanent marker to a biker, the night before the wedding? And then there was my wedding, when you—”
Their voices faded. Nikki couldn’t wait to see what would happen.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” said Marci, trying not to giggle at Simon as they swing danced across the Legion Hall. It had been transformed with lots of tissue paper flowers and streams of white crepe paper. “And it’ll rub off. Eventually.”
“I know just want I want to rub against it.”
Simon sent her out with a twist of his wrist and then curled her back into his chest. They came together awkwardly due to Simon’s cast. Marci had just learned about the custom of a groom’s so-called friends doing things to him the night before the wedding. In Simon’s case, it involved a permanent black marker and a certain part of his anatomy.
“I kind of like the idea of the elephant ears I hear they drew on your thighs,” she said, continuing to press him. He snorted his disagreement. “Well, actually,” she added, lowering her voice to make him lean closer, “it’s the elephant’s trunk that has me wet.”
She brushed her leg between his thighs to emphasize her point. She felt his point, hard and long, respond. Simon groaned. Sandra Gibson, in her role as wedding planner, had insisted Marci live with Nikki. She’d made the men promise not to be anywhere near Marci without her. Marci had finally met the senior Gibsons at the reception. She could see why Sandra wanted to get away from them now and then. They had the same eager glint in their eyes as her grooms.
Lance appeared behind Simon. He tapped him on the shoulder, told him to take a hike with a thumb gesture, and took over dancing.
“You try any of that teasing with me and I will put you over my lap.” Lance gave her That Look that said he was serious. Her pussy responded eagerly.
“Oh, no,” she said with a groan. “Now I won’t be able to sit down without making a wet spot on my dress.”
Lance’s hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom cheek through her dress. He patted it lightly, teasing her with his touch as much as he did with his eyes. His thumb strayed into the cleft of her buttocks. The loosely flowing dress didn’t stop his explorations. She faltered, missing a step. He chuckled and moved his hand back to her waist.
“More than half these women are just as wet,” he murmured in her ear. “I doubt any of the Tanner’s Ford wives are wearing panties.”
Lance turned her to face Aggie and Keith. Marci had already complimented Aggie on her knee-length dress of dark blue jersey. Her cowboy boots were made for dancing rather than mucking out the barn, and shone. When they’d met earlier in the ladies’ room, Aggie had muttered that the only reason she was wearing a dress instead of pressed jeans was that Keith had laid the outfit on the bed while she was showering. That was when Marcie saw the telltale bumps that couldn’t be avoided when wearing a garter belt and hose. Marci had the same bumps on her thighs.
“How long do we have to stay?” she asked.
“You just say the word and we are on our way home.”
“The word.”
He leaned back, looked at her, and proved how white his teeth looked against his skin. He stuck out his jaw and pursed his lips. A shrill whistle pierced the room. The band stopped and everyone stared.
“Simon! Get the truck. We’re taking our wife home.” He turned to the crowd. “Enjoy the party, folks. Thanks for coming. We’ll see you in a week or two.”
He moved to bend over. Marci backed up.
“No!” she said. “You are not putting me over your shoulder!”
Apprehension tightened Marci’s chest. Her mouth went dry. She tried to step back, but he had her in an iron grip. Her heart pounded, but her pussy also throbbed. She shifted her feet. It made her thighs rub against her naked, shaved pussy lips.
Sheriff Gibson appeared at Lance’s elbow. He was in uniform.
“I warned you already, Mr. MacDougal,” he said. “Paddling a woman in public is not tolerated in Climax.” Boos rang out, both from males and females. Max winked. “I suggest you take Mrs. MacDougal home to do that.”
Lance scooped her into his arms. Whistles and cheers erupted throughout the room. She hid her face against his chest as he carried her past the throngs of well-wishers. The evening was cool but between her arousal and his warmth, she needed no coat. She pulled her head up when he stopped beside a rumbling pickup truck. It looked ancient, with a rounded hood and wooden sides to the box. More tissue flowers and crepe paper decorated it.
“We’re riding home in that?” she asked.
“Bench seat,” explained Simon as he opened the passenger door. Lance placed her on the seat, encouraged her to push over, and slid in beside her.
“I thought you always drove?” she asked as Simon climbed behind the wheel.
“Simon’s driving the truck,” explained Lance quietly. They drove out of the parking lot to cheers and the clanking of tin cans dragging behind.
“Lift up,” said Lance when Simon turned onto the main road.
When she hesitated, he gave her a warning look. She used her fists to raise her bottom. He put a white towel under her, making sure there were no wrinkles. Then he slid her dress to her waist. Her wet thighs glistened when they passed under one of their five streetlights. The vibration of the old diesel engine transferred to the flat seat, making her quiver.
“Damn, you smell good, Marci,” said Simon.
“You drive the truck,” ordered Lance. “I’m driving our woman.”
He sank his fingers between her thighs. She moaned and spread her knees. His index finger found her clit. She gasped, pushing her bottom into his hand to beg for more. Lance chuckled.
“Driving our woman crazy.”
Simon reached down to help. His finger swirled around her clit. She bucked, shaking. How could she have forgotten how good this felt? How much she loved their touch, their voices, the scent of them.
“How fast does this thing go, Sy?”
“Not fast enough.”
Lance flipped open his belt, unzipped, and shoved his pants to his knees. He lifted her by the waist to turn her. She cooperated eagerly holding on to the seat back to support her until—oh yes!—she sank onto his cock. He was thick, and hot, and everything she could ever want
in a man. She tried to move, but Lance held her still
“Don’t,” he said. He pulled her close, dropping his head over her shoulder to hug her for a moment. He sighed, then smiled at her. “This is all I need right now,” he murmured. He drew his knuckle over her scar, his eyes showing more love than she thought possible. “Just to be in you.”
Simon rested his hand on her thigh. It was not a sexual touch, but a loving one. She placed her hand on his, and they joined fingers. They were connected now, all three of them. Four, with the spark of life growing in her.
“We’ll be home soon,” said Simon gently.
She looked from Lance, to Simon, and back. Their faces were blurred by the tears that filled her eyes.
“I am home.”
THE END
WWW.REECEBUTLER.NET
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Reece Butler didn’t realize she was a born storyteller until halfway through writing the Bride Train series. Now that she’s discovered a passion for writing erotic cowboy romances, she hasn’t looked back.
As a storyteller Reece takes in everything she’s experienced or read about and stores it in her brain to feed her imagination. It then flows out in the words and actions of her characters.
Continually learning more about the craft of writing romance, as well as a healthy dose of research and time to think, leads to the creation of characters that come alive for her.
She hopes they come alive for you as well.
For all titles by Reece Butler, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/reece-butler
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com